[freyl-tee, frey-uhl-]  

noun, plural frail·ties 
1. the quality or state of being frail.
2. moral weakness; liability to yield to temptation.
3. a fault resulting from moral weakness: frailties of the human flesh.
Thy Name is Me

I suppose it might seem, based on what I choose to write about most often, that I am ensconced in a passionate love affair with myself. While it is true that if I was not me, I would probably really like me and want to be my friend, I do not view myself with near the generosity I afford others. More, though I will agree that I am probably self-absorbed in many ways, this does not mean I am narcissistic; the distinction is considerable both in scope and in result. For though I will spend more time than I could measure or admit in reflection upon my every thought and action, it is not to the service of confirming how grand I feel I am. Rather it is to examine with ever more careful scrutiny the implications of my desires and behaviors with an eye toward correcting the way in which I err to realize an ever more satisfying life and meaningful connections with others.

I also understand after long experience that focusing on what makes me feel good, and whole, and engaged is better for me, both in that I am generally more content at that emotional timbre, but also that it allows me to see others in their best repose. The more kindly I am to myself, the easier it is to be generous with others, and vice versa.

Take none of this to mean that I am not fully apprised and keenly aware of the ways in which I fail to be the best person I might. And in the same way that I seek to consider and proffer the things about me that I like, I feel it is meaningful to treat my shortcomings similarly.

 I am self-obsessed

As I mentioned above, though I try not to let this manifest as gasconade, I still see it as a fault. Though I am good at connecting with other people in most cases, I do so by running everything through the filter of “what would be true if that were me.” Sometimes this creates meaningful and accurate assumptions, but others, I arrive places that the other person would never dream of travelling to, let alone be there waiting for me. This always results in a somewhat upsetting case of confusion, but I am learning slowly that some humans are just built and wired in different ways which I will never be accurately able to presuppose things about. It’s humbling, and no doubt excellently character building.

At the same time, the way I process information and turn it into meaningful action is to express it in some fashion; either by talking about it, or setting it down in writing. As a result I will often talk more than I should and have an embarrassing tendency to dominate conversations, especially when I am confounded by something; or someone.


Consistency: A Struggle

I enjoy a great many things and have a bit of a short attention span. One of the hardest things in my life is to stick to any kind of routine for its own sake. This makes if difficult to build on progress of most kinds. I have to remind myself, sometimes to the point of hounding, that in many cases, the only way to reap the benefits of any kind of exercise is to stick to it. I tend to have huge waves of energy that allow me to accomplish a great many things in an astoundingly short period of time, followed by periods of indolence wherein it is difficult to even muster the will to notice my hobbies lie idle*. I have found that setting myself a schedule is helpful, but not ultimately successful in creating the structure most likely to produce the results I would like to see. Alas.


Excellent impulse control! Not So Much

I like being a spontaneous person. I think being impetuous is charming, generally, as a trait and I usually consider it an admirable example of a healthy sense of adventure. However there are plenty of times when I am swept with a desire that is not in my best interest and would lead, not to exciting adventures but to humiliation and/or pain. And yet, even being fully cognizant of this, I can still find these types of impulses nigh on impossible to resist. I have gotten better and talking myself out of such fancies, or at expressing them in ways that are safer for me, but it is still something I consider myself better served to overcome than to submit to. 


I think I am accused of being arrogant by people who only sense the part of my nature which embraces the things I value and enjoy about myself. Anyone who knows me past the first blush can usually tell with ease that as readily as I grasp my finest facets, I am just as aware of my flaws. It makes me happier to imagine that like a diamond, I shine nevertheless. 


*I realize this could serve as a layman’s description of bi-polar, but my neurologist assures me, it isn’t.